Page 69 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

‘Were you his handler?’

‘I wasn’t his handler. That was Vladimir Karlov. He died in 1993. But I knew Blake well. We met on many occasions and I found him to be charming on every single one of them.’

‘What was his role?’ said Abby.

‘He gathered information. Information that Vladimir would assess and pass up the chain. Very simple, very efficient. For the most part, anyway.’

‘Who recruited him, and when did it happen?’ asked Elliot.

Abby looked at Alexei, praying that he would not name Rosamund.

‘Dominic was recruited at Cambridge,’ said Gorshkov simply. ‘His college had a legacy of producing good men for Russia.’

‘I don’t understand why he would do that,’ said Abby. ‘What persuaded him to join? What made him betray his country?’

‘Burgess, Maclean, Philby . . . no one believes what they are doing is wrong, Miss Gordon. There are any number of reasons why a man may join the other side; greed, lust, fear – all can be powerful. But can you guess the strongest of all?’

‘Ideology?’ said Elliot. ‘Belief in the cause?’

‘God, no. Politics is far too objective and far too prone to change. For example, you might be happy to give up secrets to undermine a certain government, but what if that government changed? Would you simply stop passing us information? No, contrary to what people think, spies are rarely motivated by belief – unless it’s in their particular God, of course.’

‘So what is the strongest motivation?’ asked Abby.

‘Hate, of course. Hate will drive men to do anything. And it keeps burning and burning, usually for ever.’

‘And what did Dominic Blake hate?’ asked Elliot.

‘The British establishment. I forget the details, something to do with his father and the way they treated him during the war. It was a common theme in recruitment at that time; a lot of grudges were held after the war. Either way, Dominic came to our notice in his final year at Cambridge, practically breathing fire at the local Communist Party meeting. We soon put a stop to that, of course.’

‘Why?’

‘An outspoken communist shouting about the evils of the establishment? Hardly subtle, is it? No, we explained that he could further the cause far more effectively by playing a role, being the stereotypical public school cliché, joining the rowing club, making friends with the right sort.’

‘The right sort?’ asked Abby.

‘The sort who might one

day be in the Cabinet.’

Alexei’s gaze trailed out of the window as if his thoughts were lost in the past.

‘Dominic was special, I can say that after many years of experience. Most agents are opportunists. They get themselves in a useful position – a border control officer, say, or a worker at an aerospace factory – then they wait for interesting information to come their way. But Dominic was proactive. He’d think about what information could be useful to us, then he’d seek it out, talk to people, take out the guesswork.’

‘Working as a journalist must have helped him.’

Alexei nodded.

‘He joined one of the broadsheets straight out of Cambridge, but he realised it would take him years to climb up the Fleet Street ladder and have the ears of the rich and powerful. So he decided to set his own pace and launched Capital.’

Abby’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. She imagined Dominic charming Soames’s father with his vision for an exciting new magazine, getting him to invest and support him, and all the while he wanted to peddle a secret communist agenda.

‘He was also a sexually attractive man,’ continued Gorshkov, choosing his words carefully. ‘Some of his most useful pieces of information were obtained not through idle tittle-tattle, but in the bedroom. Breathless embassy secretaries, personal assistants to Whitehall bigwigs, politicians’ wives. One affair was particularly useful. The wife of a War Office minister, Gerald Hamilton.’ He allowed himself a little chuckle at that one. ‘It is amazing what you can find out second-hand.’

Abby shook her head, not wanting to believe any of it.

‘How do we know you are telling the truth?’ she asked recklessly.

Alexei didn’t look offended. ‘My dear, the Cold War is over. My life too is in its final act. You asked me a question, I will tell you what I know. When you are eighty-five years old, there is no point keeping things to yourself.’